


School Days

by StarsGarters



Series: MCU AUs [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Family Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Parents, no Hydra
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3688470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this anon prompt on Tumblr:<br/>Parents meeting when they take their kids to class au, Rumlow/Pierce</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After school:

Brock squinted at his son’s class project proudly displayed on the cafeteria wall. Well, Murphy’s handwriting was getting  _better_. “My dad works in the military. He graduated in 1964 and has been playing with guns ever since—” Brock mashed his face with his hand. “1984. Not 1964. This is why we proof-read, Murph—” There was laughter, but it wasn’t from a elementary-schooler. 

Another father smiled as he read the projects on the wall. “Kids, right? What’s a few decades to these guys?” He offered Brock his hand, “Alexander Pierce.” 

Brock shook it with his normal firm grip. “Brock Rumlow. Hey, aren’t you that guy?” Brock tilted his head to the side, “Yeah, I think I voted for you. You know, before, before that whole thing happened…” Brock screwed up his face. Why did he say that? Everyone knew about the career politician who was suddenly a single father and dropped out of the Senatorial race. Brock knew how that felt, more than most of his voter base did. 

Pierce pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Well thanks for that. But really, there’s always another election and now, now I get to make lunch in the morning for that little firecracker. Cynthia won’t be little forever, right?” Pierce pointed at a red haired girl who was chasing Murphy around the cafeteria. “That’s your boy?” 

“Yup. That’s Murphy.” Brock winced as Murphy ran face first into the padded wall. “Shake it off buddy! Shake it off!” He called to his son, “You’re fine! Nope, there’s no blood. Look, she’s going to catch you and then you’ll have to marry her. That’s the rules.” 

Pierce shook his head, “Cynthia, you better be sure you want to keep him.” His daughter looked thoughtful for a moment and then lunged for Murphy, who squawked and dodged her arms. “Looks like we’ve got a situation here.” 

Brock shook his head, “At least they’re getting some energy out, Murph gets all wound up. So do you want to get a cup of coffee or something?”

Pierce looked at him curiously, “You’re not going to try to talk me into the PTA are you?”

Brock laughed, “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked to join. Something about _queering_  their standards.” Might as well let the man know before he saw the rainbow pride stickers all over the back of Brock’s beat up Honda.

Pierce had a damn good poker face. “Here I was just worried that you’d try to guilt me into baking brownies. Betty Crocker I am not.” They stopped chatting when Murphy suddenly wailed and Cynthia joined in. Both fathers rushed over to their kids and tried to figure out what the problem was. 

“She— She caught me! And now she doesn’t want to marry me, Dad!” Tears streaked down Murphy’s face. 

Cynthia wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I changed my mind!” 

Pierce looked at Brock bewilderedly and Brock ran his hand through Murphy’s black hair. “Did you both count to 100 and then ask your dad’s permission to get married?” They both shook their heads. “Then it doesn’t count. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. How about we go get some ice cream, you know, as friends?”

Cynthia nodded curtly, her red curls bounced. “I can have as many friends as I want to.” 

Pierce put his hand on her shoulder, “You need to ask Murphy if he wants to be friends.” 

She sighed. “Wanna be friends?” 

“Okay. But I still get ice cream. Right Dad?” Murphy sniffled. 

“Of course,” Brock looked up at Pierce as he gathered his son into his arms. “Ice cream tastes better with friends. Especially new ones.” Pierce smiled and petted his daughter’s curls as Cynthia clung to his leg.  “Now come on sport, have you ever tried a  _waffle cone_? Let’s walk over to Pietro’s.” 

The two children looked at each other and declared a wordless truce, then ran towards the crosswalk. “Wait!” Brock and Pierce hollered together. 

“Jinx. You owe me a Coke.” Brock laughed. 

“Only if it has rum in it.” Pierce grinned. “Ice cream for starters, then maybe drinks later?” 

Brock pursed his lips and nodded. “Deal. But let’s try to make it though dessert first, I’m not as young as I used to be.” He smirked and shoved his hands in his pockets, “1984, Murphy. 1984!” 


	2. Chapter 2

Brock knelt down to his son's level as Murphy smooshed his face against the glass counter and said, "So what flavor do you want Murph? Remember you get one choice." Murphy squinted as if this was the most difficult decision he'd ever had to make in his short life. Brock was going to make sure it would be that way for a very long time. 

Murphy pointed at a tub. "That one." Then he added in a solemn tone because they were with company, " _Please_." 

"Neapolitan?" The cashier asked. 

Murphy nodded, "Three flavors in one scoop." Then he grinned as Brock ruffled his dark hair. 

"I want that too." Cynthia chimed in. "Can I, Papa?" 

Alexander, _Alex_ , Brock corrected himself, said "Of course. But we should get a bowl, so you can put it down when you want a break. I think I saw a playground out back with monkey bars." He looked at his little girl with infinite fondness as she stood up on her tip toes to see above the counter. 

"I am very good at monkey bars. Very good." Cynthia proclaimed. She was a very serious little girl, but Brock couldn't blame her. Had to be rough losing your mother like that. She cautiously tasted the ice cream and beamed, "This is _great_." 

Murphy nodded, a big smear of chocolate on his chin. "There's a swirly slide too! You have to climb a ladder." 

Alex nodded as if this was very important information and Brock smiled. "Do you want anything? It's on me." Alex asked as he paid. 

Brock shook his head, "Naah. I usually end up eating what Murph has left over. Eating for two, in a weird way." Brock liked the way Alex laughed at that. Murphy handed his father his ice cream after a few more bites and ran off to the playground. Cynthia did the same.  

"You know, I've been doing that myself lately." Alex patted his firm stomach. "My mother would have had a fit if I threw away food." They sat down on a bench and watched the kids run about the playground. The sun was warm and a cool breeze stirred the woodchips around the play structures. 

"There are starving children in China." Brock mimicked his own mother. "I always thought that those kids in China were lucky to be too far away to try my mom's cooking." He licked his spoon and made a face. "Give me pistachio and butterscotch drizzle any day." 

They sat in comfortable silence for a long time, watching their children play then Alex said, "I wish I had a tenth of their energy." 

"Oh, trust me the crash is coming soon. Mark my words," Brock threw the empty ice cream in the trash. "I'm counting on Murph taking at least an hour nap this afternoon. Can finally get some laundry done." Now that their machine was repaired, he didn't have to drive in to the laundromat. 

"Cynthia doesn't nap." Alex stirred the melted ice cream contemplatively. "I try, but she's very stubborn."

"That's rough. Murph kinda short-circuits and passes out in the middle of the grocery store sometimes." 

"Last time she took a nap, when she woke up..." Alex looked at his feet. "She only had me left." He tied his shoelace and then rubbed under his eye, pushing up his glasses. 

Brock bit his lower lip, what did you say to that? What could you say? "Murph never really knew his mother. Hell, I never really knew her." Why was he telling this complete stranger this? It wasn't like he was ashamed. Maybe it was just fair, he knew all of Alex's tragic tale, why shouldn't he return the favor?

Alex looked at him, curiously and Brock continued, "I was pretty deep in the closet at the time. I got drunk, had a one night stand that I still can't really remember and one morning she knocked on my trailer door. She said, 'This is yours.' She handed me an infant and a duffel bag of baby stuff. Then she left." He spread his hands and shrugged. "Kid didn't even have a name. He was still 'Baby Boy' on the birth certificate." He kicked at a wood chip. "Even _dogs_ have names. So, I named him after my great-grandpa because he didn't have any teeth either and drooled a lot too." 

Alex's mouth fell open, that careful poker face was fractured. "So, you just took over? Just like that?" 

"Well, I was on leave at the time for an injury and it wasn't too hard to transition to consulting work, so yeah. I did. I had a lot of help from a couple of ladies in my park that know more about kids than I do. Hell, anyone knew more about raising a kid than I did. And no, I haven't taken any paternity tests. Everyone wants to know that." He leaned back on the bench.

Alex said softly, "I wasn't going to ask." They watched the children climb up the rope web. Cynthia declared herself the queen of the fort and Murphy argued that he'd make a better queen. They declared a truce and both decided to save the castle together. 

"It doesn't matter. He needed a home. He's my son. That's the long and short of it. Makes you decide what's important or not, right there." Brock was surprised when Alex reached over and squeezed his shoulder in a show of solidarity. He felt a blush creep up his face and swallowed hard. Had it been that long since someone had touched him like that?

Murphy got his legs tangled in the rope web and wailed as he dangled upside down. Brock rushed to his side, Alex followed a few steps behind. "Murph! Hold on, let's get you untangled." His son sniffled more in exhaustion than distress against his chest, Brock patted him on the back. "Time to head back, I think." 

"Carry me!" Murphy demanded. 

"Fine. Hop up." He carried Murphy on his hip, his small feet kicking his thigh. 

"Carry me too, Papa!" Cynthia cried, her face smudged with dirt and sticky ice cream. 

Alex knelt down slowly, painfully now that Brock was watching for it, and said, "You know I can't lift you sweetheart." 

"It's not fair!" Cynthia stomped her foot, her lip quivered and Brock knew those as signs of an impending meltdown.

Brock offered to the little girl, "Well, if you're okay with it, I could give you a lift." Cynthia looked at Murphy, wiped her nose on the back of her hand and nodded. Soon Brock had children on both of his hips and they headed back to the school. Murphy nodded off first and Cynthia fought it, she fought so hard, but eventually she was drooling on Brock's shoulder too. 

"Not any heavier than what I used to carry in the field, you know?" he said, when the silence got to be too much. 

Alex nodded. 

"Can I ask you something?" Brock said quietly. 

"Sure." 

"Why are you being followed by that guy in the black SUV? He's not exactly trying to be discreet."

"Oh, that's my security detail. They don't interfere in my life, unless there's a clear and present danger to my family." Alex chuckled. "Probably afraid I'd rope them into babysitting." He smiled as if a glimmer of a thought had occurred to him. 

"Ah. So I'm getting a background check run on me, again." 

"Probably. Sorry about that." 

"I'm used to it. Part of being a consultant." He shifted Murphy on his hip. "Special forces. I do counter-terrorism training when I'm not getting dragged out as the poster child for queer relations. Single parent gay commando, I'm a press corps dream boy." 

Alex looked at him appraisingly, "You're full of surprises Brock." 

Brock hazarded a wink. "And you haven't even tasted my ravioli yet." Was this flirting? 

"I'd like to." Oh yes, this was flirting. 

"Well, as long as you don't mind visiting the Harmony Oaks Trailer Park, _mi casa es su casa_." Alex raised an eyebrow, "Look, I didn't say I was authentic Italian. This your car?" It was a sleek Mercedes sedan with a pink child seat in the back. Alex opened the door and Brock did his best to get Cynthia in the seat without dropping Murphy. "There you go Princess." Brock said. 

"I'm a queen." Cynthia sleepily protested and then fell back asleep as Alex fastened the safety harness. 

He was parked behind the sedan and Alex grinned at the cat stickers all over the side window. "Murphy likes cats. I told him we can't have one, so he's adopted all the strays in the park. Pick your battles, I guess. I've met terrorists less stubborn in their convictions than this little guy." Alex looked at the rest of the stickers, especially the rainbow Pride ones, "And anyone who gives me shit about _those_ finds out that guys like me don't all have limp wrists."  

Alex was looking at him in a strange way, Brock felt his face get hot again. Alex offered him his hand to shake and Brock took it, but the grip was more intimate than business-like this time. "My offer for drinks still stands."

"Well, you find the babysitter and I'm game." Brock leaned up against the car. "Want my number?" He hazarded, trying not to get too hopeful. What would a former Senator want with someone like him? "We can exchange brownie recipes." 

"I'm not much of a baker, Brock." Alex got out his phone, "But I bet you'd be a great teacher..."

After giving Alex his number, Brock got in the car and watched him drive off, followed by a black SUV. "Daddy?" Murphy's sleepy voice asked from the back seat, "I like Cynthia. We're friends."

"That's good, pumpkin."

"You need friends too, Daddy. Mr. Cynthia is nice." Then Murphy started dozing again, throughly worn out by the day's activities.

"Yeah. I guess he is, Murphy." Brock squashed down any hopeful expectations he had. Alex, _Mr. Pierce_ , he corrected himself, was just trying to be friendly. Wasn't he? Well, he better learn how to bake brownies pretty damn quick. It couldn't be _that_ hard. "Brownies. _Really_?" He rolled his eyes at himself. Brock was so out of practice with all this dating shit, but he was still flushed red and hope curled up behind his heart. _Maybe_. Maybe this could be something wonderful.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Play date! Play date!" Murphy chanted in the back seat. " _Playmate come out and play with meeee_!" He sang cheerfully. The sun was out and his son's good cheer was infectious. A batch of brownies sat on the front seat beside Brock, the best ones from Brock's attempts at baking. "And I get to eat dad's special brownies!" 

Brock winced at that phrase, "They're not _special_ brownies. Just chocolate fudge." 

"No, they're for Cynthia and Mr. Cynthia. They're special." Murphy began humming loudly and drumming his heels on the seat, occasionally kicking the back of Brock's seat. 

"No kicking the driver, Murph." Brock cautioned, "I can feel your bony toes." Murphy had an allergy to footwear during the summer, flip-flops vanished in the car inexplicably. 

"Sooorry. Water park playdate! The  _cool_ park." Unseasonably warm weather meant that the public park had turned on the water features, sprinklers and a wading pool. Murphy was coated in an inch of sunscreen and Brock had his trunks on too, just in case he needed to rescue Murphy again from imaginary sharks. 

Brock pulled up to the curb and grinned at his parking spot. Murphy was already out of his car seat by the time Brock shut off the ignition and he threw his arms around Brock's neck. "Love you Daddy." He squeezed his arms as hard as he could, "Love you more than kittens." 

"Gah." That was the sweetest chokehold ever, "Love you too Murph. Now, lets burn some of that crazy energy you've got there. Can you carry the brownies while I get the bag?" His son nodded and they grabbed their gear. 

Luckily, Alex and Cynthia were already there and had snagged a primo picnic table under some shade. Cynthia waved her arms frantically, "Over here!" She was in her swimsuit too and had goggles perched on her head. "They have buried dinosaur bones! We have to dig them up!" Murphy set the brownies on the picnic table and ran off with Cynthia to the sand play area. 

"Too bad they don't make pressure washers for kiddos." Alex joked, his blond hair hidden under a sun hat. "Are these the world famous brownies, I've heard so much about?" He plucked one out from under the foil.

"Betty Crocker, eat your heart out." Brock grinned, "But if Murphy tells you they're  _special_ brownies, they're not  _that_ kind. Just have to clarify." He sat down at the table next to Pierce. He looked good in cargo shorts and a short sleeved blue shirt, more relaxed. He looked like the kind of person you'd like to wake up beside. 

"Well, I'm not worried. It's not like I'm running for office or anything right now." Pierce took a bite and Brock bit the inside of his lip with anticipation. "These are really good. Should I tell the PTA ladies?"

"Don't you dare." Brock groaned, "I'm only signed up for the dunk tank at the spring fundraiser." 

"Are you going to be the dunker or the dunkee?" Alex licked the chocolate off his thumb. "'Cause I used to be pretty good with a baseball..." 

"I'm in the tank. Last year, no one could hit the target so the kids all just ran up and hit the target with their hands. The moms had no such excuse." Pierce gave him the slowest once-over ever and Brock felt his cheeks burn. "They called it the wet t-shirt tank." Brock babbled and grabbed a brownie to shove in his foolish mouth.

"I can see that. Remind me to buy a few dozen tickets." Brock almost swallowed his tongue along with his brownie. "I never did a lot of things last year with Cynthia, now, I'm really looking forward to the fundraiser. See if my throwing arm still works."

"Hold still, you've got--" Brock wet his thumb on his tongue and reached over, he cleaned off a smudge of chocolate on the corner of Alex's lips. The moment after he did it, he froze and Pierce smiled at him, warmly. "Sorry, force of habit."

"Don't worry about it. That's the closest I've gotten to first base in a year." Pierce let his legs fall open and his bare knee knocked against Brock's.  _  
_

 _Okay_ , Brock thought to himself, _do not freak out. Do not sprout wood. Do not panic. Do not pass GO._

Brock confessed in a rush, "Been a lot longer than that for me."  _Fuck! Why did I say that?_

"That's surprising." Alex said mildly, still not moving his damned leg. 

"Not really. I mean, I've had offers, I'm not  _dead_." Brock shrugged, "But I've got other priorities right now. And he is trying to eat that sand cake." Brock stood up and hollered, "Murph!" His son looked over at him with a rim of sandy dirt around his lips, he set down the clod of dirt that Cynthia had served him. 

"Cynthia!" Alex called as well and the two children trudged back to the table. "No eating sand, you know better." 

"I didn't think he'd really eat it. We were pretending." Cynthia said woefully.

"Can I have a brownie?" Murphy asked, non-plussed. Brock wiped at Murphy's mouth and gave him a brownie that he devoured in three bites. "Much better. The sand was crunchy. Can we go get wet now?" He pulled at Brock's shorts. "Please! Please!" 

Cynthia joined in, tugging on her father's shirt. "Come on Papa. Play with us." 

Pierce shrugged, "Why not?" The kids took off at a sprint for the wading pool.

"Don't sit in the warm spot, that's all I'm saying." Brock said as they walked together, slowly across the grass. 

"I'm going to avoid thinking about the chemical composition of that water."

"Yes, _water._ " Brock chuckled. "You just keep calling it that." He sat on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water and Alex sat beside him. They watched the kids pretend to be sharks. Brock leaned back and looked up at the clouds, squinting. Forgot his sunglasses again. Birds flew overhead. It was really quite pretty.

"Daddy! I'm a WHALE!" Murphy shouted and belly-flopped into the pool in front of Brock, soaking him. Then he swam away, spitting water up like a blow-hole, not a care in the world.

"Murphy Isaac Rumlow!" Brock sputtered, water dripped off his nose. He looked over at Alex who was trembling with suppressed laughter. Brock lost what little composure he had to begin with and started guffawing. "Dunk tank practice, I guess." he said when he could catch his breath, peeled off his t-shirt and wrung it out as best he could.

Pierce had an odd look on his face, usually people smiled when Brock took off his shirt. Brock followed Alex's line of sight to the nasty gnarled scars on his flank. He pointed at them and tilted his head, "Work related injury. Should have seen the other guys." Pierce nodded and then hesitantly lifted the side of his own shirt, displaying angry red scars on his side as well.  _Damn. The news hadn't reported that._

"Still doing PT, have some nerve damage." Pierce said, his tone soft and haunted. "Does it ever _stop_ hurting?"

Somehow Brock didn't think Alex was talking about his wound. "It does." He screwed up his courage to grasp Alex's hand and squeeze it, "You just have to find something else to think about." 

After a few minutes of silence, Pierce said, "That's good advice." The yearning and sadness on Pierce's face was too painful to look at, so Brock watched his son splash around in the water. Then he felt Alex's fingers interlace his and squeeze back, then Alex stroked the flesh of Brock's palm with his thumb. Brock wasn't blushing again, not from simple hand-holding, it was the sun that had his cheeks burning. That was it. 

Brock was a terrible liar, even to himself. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sick on cold meds right now, let me know if this wasn't coherent.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't the first time Brock sat in Principal Rogers' office and it probably wouldn't be the last, but each time Brock felt the urge to make sure he didn't have anything in his teeth and that his outfit was presentable. There was no way that a man that looked like Steve Rogers could exist outside of a very specific collection of videos that Brock had locked away under his bed. Dear lord, he was _built_. And utterly in love with his wife, Peggy. But a man could dream. 

"Mr. Rumlow, we had an incident at lunch time." Principal Rogers leaned forward in his chair, his shirtsleeves rolled up taut over massive biceps. "Murphy got in a fight." 

That shook Brock out of his private fantasies, "My kid? My Murph?" He furrowed his brow, "The kid who just told me that he thought potatoes had feelings because they had eyes? Who did he get in a fight with?"

"Cynthia Pierce." _Oh hell._ "Now, this was a very one-sided fight but we have to have both parents involved. Murphy was very sad about something today," Principal Rogers prompted.

"Yeah. One of the stray cats got run over by his school bus stop. I-- I wasn't fast enough to keep him from seeing the old ginger-tom and he took it really hard. I thought he'd be okay at school, but-, yeah." Brock looked at his hands. His tender-hearted little boy knew every stray in the park and each cat had its own complicated backstory. Brock couldn't keep them all straight and he'd had Murphy try to write them down as practice. "I should have kept him home, I guess." 

"Murphy didn't want to go out to recess, so he was helping our janitor, Mr. Barnes, with lunch clean up when Cynthia said something to him that made him cry and then she hit him." 

"More crying huh?" 

"No, he bit her. Growled like an animal and bit her on the arm. We've cleaned it up, he didn't break the skin." He rubbed his face and sighed, "So they have detention for the next two days and have to help Sam in the lunch room. They were getting along famously. Cynthia's not-- the easiest child to make friends with. Mr. Wilson has been working with her anger issues. I've called in her father as well, maybe you two should talk as well." 

Brock nodded, "Okay. I know Alex." Hopefully this wouldn't turn out like the time Murphy had told one of the moms that her rabbit skin coat was evil. 

"Thanks for coming in Brock, Murphy is in the library." Principal Rogers held out his hand and Brock took it. "Murphy's a good kid, I'm sure this is an anomaly." He smiled at Brock and Brock mentally added that image to his alone time thoughts. 

"Yeah, I'll talk to him. Thanks." Brock left the office and headed to the library. 

His son sat on one of the tiny chairs that Brock always got his ass stuck on during conferences, swinging his feet and looking miserable. "Murph?" Brock said and his son ran into his arms, sniffling. "Wanna tell me what happened, pumpkin?" 

"I-- I'm sorry, Daddy. I was helping Mr. Barnes with clean up because I was too sad to play and Cynthia got mad at me and I bit her and I'm so sorry!" Murphy sniffed against his neck and Brock petted his hair.

"We can't bite at school."

"I know. But she made me so mad. She-- she said that it was just a stupid cat and I couldn't be that sad!" Murphy's eyelashes were beaded with tears. "She didn't know Mister GingerTom. He had kittens. Lots of kittens. They'll be sad about their dead daddy. Why wouldn't you be sad about that? Mr. Barnes understood. He let me hold the dustpan."

Brock held his little boy close and said, "You can be sad sweetheart. It's okay. Cynthia-- I think she's been really sad for a long time. She-- her mommy is dead, Murphy." It wasn't that simple, but he had to keep it on Murphy's level. He couldn't say that Cynthia was grieving from a loss so abrupt and terrible that many adults couldn't cope with it. 

"I don't have a mommy. I have you." Murphy wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "I don't want her to be sad. Sad sucks."

Brock chewed on his lower lip and then with sudden inspiration, said "Murphy, let's get some wet food for the other kitties. We can have a funeral for GingerTom and you can tell them the sad news while they eat. I-- I buried GingerTom under the flowerbed so he'll always have pretty flowers." 

"Thank you Daddy." Murphy squeezed him with all his wee strength, "Can I invite Mr. Barnes and Principal Steve?" A small smile cracked through the tears. 

"Well, yes, but they might be busy so don't be mad at them if they can't come. Okay?"

Brock patted him on the back and Murphy ran off to go invite the grown ups to his cat wake. "Mr. Cynthia, you are invited." Murphy chimed before heading down the hall. 

"You're really good at this." Pierce said with admiration. He was leaning against the library door. "I am so lost. All I can do is hug her and tell her that I'm still here." He looked at his shoes, "It's not enough is it?" He sounded lost and dejected. 

Brock walked over to Alex and touched his shoulder. "Yes, it is. She needs you. Do you talk about- your wife? The good times, you know? So you both remember..." 

"Not really, she starts crying and I can't--," Pierce looked at Brock and sighed, "I'm a coward. It should have been me. It was meant to have been me."  _Oh Christ._

Brock couldn't help it, he grabbed Pierce in a great hug, clasped him to his chest and held him in silence until Pierce embraced him back. They stood there in the library surrounded by tiny chairs and tables, magazines and books and listened to the beating of each other's hearts. "You're not a coward. You're breathing. You're here. Be here for her." Brock said softly with conviction. "Come to our silly funeral for a stray cat and stay for dinner. You're not alone, Alex. You're not alone." 

Pierce's breath hitched and Brock felt him hold back a sob, he had too much practice at that. It wasn't right. Brock rubbed his hand on the back of Pierce's neck just like he would when Murphy had a bad dream. It seemed to work and Pierce's breathing calmed. Brock pulled back and with a smile, he patted Pierce on the shoulder, "You okay now?" 

Pierce shook his head and pulled Brock back into his arms. "I- want to kiss you. Can I do that?" Brock's knees felt weak. 

" _Here_?" Was the only word that Brock's mouth could make, so he nodded as well. Pierce smiled and hesitantly, cautiously kissed him as if he were made of glass. He pulled back as if he remembered where he was finally. 

"Sorry." Pierce said and as he dropped his arms, Brock clasped the sides of Alex's face tenderly in his hands and kissed him back with all the pent up passion he'd been cramming down over the last few weeks. 

When they parted, Brock said while breathing heavily, "Never be sorry for that. Never." 

"You don't know what you're getting into, with me," Alex said against his lips, "You'll never have your privacy again, you'll never have your quiet life again." 

Brock smiled, "That's one hell of a kiss, I wasn't planning on moving in just yet," and he stole another one. 

A loud coughing at the door, Principal Rogers stood there watching them with a slightly dazed grin. "So, you two _do_ know each other. I'm getting ready to lock up. The kids are on the playground with Mr. Wilson. Have a nice evening gentlemen!" Brock heard him say as he walked away, "Hot damn..." 


	5. Chapter 5

Brock's phone meowed. Murphy had been playing with it again, obviously. From Alex: I AM SO SORRY. PLEASE DON'T LOOK AT THE GLOBE PRESS. 

"Murph?" His son's head poked out from his blanket fort. "Go ask Mrs. Barton if we can borrow her _special_ paper for a little bit." Brock poured himself a cup of coffee as Murphy skipped out the door. It couldn't be that bad, Alex did overreact from time to time. You couldn't blame him for that. Once your life had been forever changed by tragedy, you wanted to wrap the people you cared about in bubble wrap. Even if they'd be kicking and screaming the whole time. 

"DADDY!" Murphy called out and Brock was out the door before the coffee even touched his lips. Murphy was waving a part of a newspaper in glee. "You're in the newspaper!"

Brock took the gossip rag from Murphy. ALEXANDER PIERCE'S NEW HOT MYSTERY HUNK! And there he was in print. Sweaty from a run. Half naked at the dunking booth. _Kissing Alex_ in a blurry telephoto shot. He blinked hard, but the pictures didn't change. Murphy wasn't in them, thank god. 

_Former Senator and widower Alexander Pierce looks to be recovering nicely in the muscled arms of this new mystery hottie. Mr. Pierce has always been a vocal advocate and ally for gay rights. Now we all know why. We'll have more details soon._

It wasn't shame burning hot in Brock's gut, it was _anger_. How dare they--? Didn't they know how delicate Alex was? How every morning he had to fight to get out of bed and take care of his daughter? Outing Alex and violating his privacy... Brock's eyes narrowed and he swept the perimeter of the trailer park with practiced eyes. He'd dealt with snipers before. The ones with bullets seemed more honorable right now. _Where are you, you devious fucks? You don't know who you're dealing with, do you?_ Brock dropped the paper and Murphy picked it up. 

"Why are you kissing Mr. Cynthia, Daddy?" His son asked while scratching his nose. 

Brock dropped down to one knee and gathered Murphy into his arms. He buried his nose into Murphy's messy dark hair and tried to make his heart stop racing. "Kissing on the mouth is what adults do when they care about each other."

Murphy made a yuck face and squirmed. "Kissing's gross. Germs and stuff."

"It gets better when you get older." Brock chuckled in spite of himself as Murphy shook his head in vehement denial. "Trust me, pumpkin." Brock tapped on his cheek, "Lay one on me." 

Murphy squawked and tried to squirm away, but then collapsed in giggles and pecked his father on the cheek. "Do you really like Mr. Cynthia, Daddy?" 

Brock nodded. "More than pistachio ice cream, Murph."

His son considered this profundity and then brightened. "Then we should have a sleepover! I don't want to go alone. Come with me, Daddy. Please?" Murphy begged. "Cynthia has a dollhouse with a  _doorbell._ A doorbell, Daddy!" Brock smiled, he was helpless when Murphy gave him those pleading eyes. All the terrible things he'd done in the name of his country paled and faded when his boy looked at him. 

"We'll see, Murph. We'll see. Now go take back the paper to Mrs. Barton." Murphy saluted him with a tiny hand and Brock returned it. He stood up and watched his son lope over to the Bartons' trailer. He texted Alex back. CALL ME. SLEEPOVER TO PLAN. He hit send and was gratified by the near instantaneous meowing of his phone. "So, at least they got my good side...?" 

\--

Murphy insisted on carrying his own sleeping bag, it was olive drab just like Brock's, but there was a soft kitten paw print blanket shoved deep inside it. "I don't need it. I just need to know it is there." Murphy said with conviction and Brock hadn't pushed the matter. Murphy rang the doorbell and fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to another. 

The man who answered the door was familiar to Brock for some reason, tall and scarred across his face. Brock held out his hand, "Brock Rumlow." Definitely someone that Brock might have worked with in the past, but he just couldn't place it. 

"Jack Rollins. We worked together on the Bolivia incident." A strong handshake, but no finger pulping, no bullshit. Ah, that was it. Alex was in good hands then. Brock marginally relaxed, but he was still on edge. 

"And Murphy!" His son piped up. Jack knelt down and offered Murphy his hand as well. Murphy shook it, holding on to three of Jack's huge fingers. 

"Nice to meet you Murphy." He stood up. "Cynthia is in the backyard. I can take your things, if you like." 

Murphy glanced up at Brock and he nodded. Jack took the bundles from Murphy, they fit easily under his arm. He pointed to a patio door. "Just right through those doors." Murphy took off and Brock heard shrieks of glee from the backyard. 

Brock followed Jack into the beautiful house, there was far too much light colored carpet to ever survive without a host of housekeepers. Fireplace. Tiled floors. Of course, Brock knew that he was dating above his pay scale but this house, wow. He'd never really  _felt_ shabby before. They set the bags and gear down in the living room in front of a tv that was wider than Brock's trailer. Jack led him to the kitchen.

And there was Alex. Wearing an apron, blue with a ruffle. The scent of brownies filled the air as he pulled a pan out of the state of the art oven and set it on a rack. He pushed back his blond hair with a oven-mitted hand. He looked at Brock and smiled, Brock remembered to breathe. "Thanks Jack. I would have gotten the door, but the brownies..." 

Jack shrugged, "I'll be in the backyard if you need me." He nodded at Brock. 

Brock leaned against the island. "Looks good." There was another bowl of batter on the counter. 

Alex brightened, "Thanks! I added butterscotch chips." 

Brock grabbed a spoon and swiped a dollop of batter, "Wasn't talking about the brownies." He held Alex's gaze while he licked the spoon, slowly. 

"Oh, weren't you?" Alex flushed red and looked away. He peeled off his oven mitts and leaned on the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. "I-- I'm really sorry." He apologized. 

Ah, the guilt, Brock expected that. "Sorry for looking so good? Yeah, you should be sorry. I'm having trouble behaving myself." He stole another spoonful of batter. "I'm being deliberately naughty here, you're gonna run out of brownies." 

"Sorry for the tabloids." 

Brock shrugged. "Vultures. The lot of them. How do you feel? It's not easy getting outed and lots of people pretend that bi doesn't exist." 

"I think that I might be more worried if I ever planned to go back into politics. But I'm not. I loved my wife. I still do. But, I'm not going to let other people decide what's good for me or not." Alex scooped batter into a greased and floured pan. 

"Other than your 24/7 security detail, of course." Brock nudged Alex with his knee. "I haven't been a _sexy mystery hunk_ in a long time." He raised his eyebrows suggestively. He might not be good at this flirting stuff, but damned if he wasn't going to let Alex know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't getting scared off.  

"You know, I thought you might not want to see me anymore." He put the brownies in the oven, set the timer. "That's a lot for anyone to deal with, being in the public eye."

Brock approached him from behind, laid a trail of kisses up the side of his neck. "You've underestimated my stubborn streak. I'm not about to back away from a fight, don't have an ounce of surrender in me. Not when I've found something worth fighting for." Brock kissed Alex's cheekbone, blonde lashes cast shadows on freckled skin. 

"I'm not worth--" Brock silenced that utterance with his lips. He wound his fingers in the apron straps and pulled Alexander close. 

Brock's lips were still ghosting against the edge of Alex's as he said, "I'm going to pretend that you didn't start to say something stupid, because you're the smartest man I know Alex. I think you like me. And obviously, you've got damn good taste." 

Alex put his hand on the back of Brock's neck and kissed him again. "You taste like chocolate." 

Brock nuzzled against his throat, he wanted to push Alex up against that counter and rim him until he begged for a proper fucking. Grab handfuls of that pert ass. He could keep the apron on. But that would have to remain a fantasy, the screams in the backyard reminded him. "Mmm. You're gonna make me fat."

"Perish the thought." Alex grinned and brushed the back of his hand against Brock's crotch, pleased at what he found there. The buzzer rang and only the threat of burnt brownies parted them. Brock licked the wooden spoon and tried to think about baseball, when he only wanted to fantasize about much filthier things. 

\--

Popcorn was popping in the microwave for the mandatory sleepover movie, something animated about dragons. Brock heard Murphy protesting loudly, "Stop it! Stop it!" He stepped to the edge of the doorframe and waited. 

Cynthia held up the kitten paw print blanket. "But it's a _baby_ blanket. Why do you have a baby blanket?" She wasn't being particularly cruel, she just confused and sleepy.  

"It's not a baby blanket. It's my blanket. It's special!" Murphy protested. It was the blanket that Murphy arrived in when his mother had dropped him off and never looked back. Good riddance, Brock thought with no heat, he couldn't be furious at her because he loved Murphy. The little boy was the light of his life and he couldn't imagine life without him. 

"What's so special about a dumb old blanket?" Cynthia continued, cranky from overstimulation.

Brock was about to step in, but another adult voice said, "Well, for starters, you can do _this_ with it." Jack spread it out on the floor, the huge man dwarfed the children who watched in rapt fascination as he formed the start of a blanket fort. "Now if we take the couch cushions off, then we can make a tunnel." The kids followed his every instruction and Jack put the kitty blanket over the apex of the cushions with a flourish. "There we go. And if we didn't have the blanket, it wouldn't be structurally stable." He wriggled into the fort, his long legs poked out from the end. 

"...I have more blankets. And pillows." Cynthia said with a quiet urgency. 

Jack said from under the blankets, "You better go get them then. Murphy, why don't you help?" The kids ran off to gather up more building supplies, murmuring between themselves.

Brock squatted down beside the fort and lifted up the edge of a blanket. "You're good with kids for a special forces guy."

Jack didn't make any move to get out of the fort, it wasn't _completely_ structurally sound. "My three older sisters have enough kids to make a baseball team. I'm happy being Uncle Jack. Uncles get to do the fun stuff and give the kids back after loading 'em up on sugar and roller coasters. I'm just getting revenge for all those years of dress up."  

Brock smiled, "So I guess you've done a background check on me." 

Jack nodded. "Yup. You're clean. I mean, in the ways that count." He made a face, "You might want to be a little more discreet with the paparazzi, Mr. Mystery Hunk." 

Brock snorted, "I'll just treat them the same way we did in Bolivia." He stood up and let the blanket fall back into place as the kids trampled back into the living room loaded up with blankets and pillows. 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Jack said, muffled. 

\--

Murphy and Cynthia were passed out in the blanket fort, Jack snoring on Brock's sleeping bag beside them. Brock tip-toed out of the living room in bare feet, he prayed to any merciful god listening that the kids would stay asleep. 

The door was open, he leaned against the bedroom door frame clad in his pj pants and tank top. "Waiting for me?" he said softly. Alex was sitting on top of the coverlet, he waved him in and Brock shut the door behind him. He sat on the bed, the dim lamplight caught and gleamed in Alex's hair. 

"I was hoping, but I wasn't going to push..." He reached out a hesitant hand and Brock took it. He kissed the tips of Alex's fingers and then let one slip between his lips. Alex's breath hitched.  

"You need to be a little more selfish, Alexander Pierce. What do _you_ want?" This was all about Alex, Brock was happy to follow his lead, no matter where it led. It was enough to be here on his bed, he'd kiss those lips until dawn peeked over the horizon. 

" _You_." Alex leaned closer, cautious. 

Brock smiled, "That's sweet, but awful vague. Try being more  _specific._ I'm very good at taking orders. It's my job." He resumed suckling on Alex's finger. 

"I want-- to _touch_ you." Alex tugged at Brock's tank and Brock pulled it up over his head. Boldly, Alex did the same with the pj pants and Brock shimmed out of those too. Alex looked at him with awe and Brock's pride swelled, along with his cock. He wasn't hung like a horse, but he knew what to do with what he had. 

He prompted when Alex hesitated. "With what do you want to touch me? Your fingers? Your tongue? Something else?"

Alex pulled off his sleep shirt, he was dusted with blond hair that trailed down his firm midsection. And those scars. Alex tried to cover up the scars, but Brock stilled his hand. He leaned over and kissed the angry red scars with reverence.

Alex shuddered as Brock stroked his flank and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Alex's pants. "May I?" He looked up at Alex through his eyelashes. Alex nodded, his mouth dry as Brock undressed him. "There you go. You're _amazing_." Brock wasn't just blowing smoke, he was practically drooling with the need to suck on that beautiful thick cock. "Can I? Can I taste you?" 

Alex nodded and Brock groaned with need. Alex's cock filled his mouth and he swirled his tongue around the head, determined to be the best blowjob this beautiful man ever had. He used all his tricks, every dirty little secret he'd learned in the back alleys of bars and in the barracks.  _You're gonna remember me._  He swallowed Alex down to the root and was rewarded by Alex groaning his name over and over like a litany, a prayer. Without warning Alex came in his mouth and Brock swallowed that down too, working Alex through his orgasm. He looked up and Alex's face as soft and languid with pleasure. Brock curled up against Alex and trailed his fingers through the blond chest hair.  

"Haven't done this since college." Alex murmured. "I mean, with a _man_."

Brock kissed Alex's skin, still hard as hell, but content to let Alex set the pace. "Just like riding a bicycle." He quipped fondly.

"What about you?" Alex wrapped his fingers around Brock's shaft and gently tugged. Brock inhaled sharply, his breath hissed through his teeth. "May I?"

"Oh god yes. Yes please. I might die if you don't..." Brock babbled, pumping his hips into Alex's fist. It was good, but too dry. "Spit?" He whimpered and Alex spat into his other hand, switched his grip. Blue eyes, blue eyes looking right through him... Brock didn't last long, Alex watched in fascination as Brock coated his belly and chest with thin ribbons of semen. 

"Been-- a while for me too." Brock wheezed, "Hadn't met-- anyone special in a long time."

"So I'm special, huh?" Alex swirled his fingertips in Brock's sticky belly hair. 

"Uh huh. Butterflies in the belly special." 

They cleaned up and lay in each others arms for a while until Alex got sleepy, then Brock got dressed and went back out to the living room. He carefully roused Jack, who rolled his eyes at Brock's messy hair, and took his place on the sleeping bag. When Murphy woke up, his daddy would be right there and Alexander had promised them pancakes. With maple syrup, butter and berries. Brock could practically taste them. He touched the edge of his kiss bruised lips and smiled.  _Tasted better than pistachio ice cream._ _  
_

 


	6. Chapter 6

Brock sat in a rocking chair on his front porch, his slingshot on his knee. Murphy was cracking walnuts for Mrs. Barton with all his strength. He had a pile on a paper plate. Mrs. Barton had promised him fudge. He shook his wee head and handed a stubborn nut to his father. "Can't open that one. It's a bad nut." 

Brock smiled distractedly, looking off into the distance. "Thanks kiddo." He ruffled Murphy's hair. Then he loaded the slingshot and pulled back on the rubber tubing. He squinted and let the walnut fly into the the woods outside the park. There was a muffled squawk and a flock of starlings startled out of their cover. 

Murphy handed up another nut, he chewed on his lip in concentration. "You're not hitting any animals are you, daddy?" He grinned as a stubborn walnut popped open. 

"Not any that are cute or cuddly, nope." He was aiming at the reflection from the camera lenses. Stupid jerks couldn't sneak up on a dead raccoon and Brock was getting tired of seeing his picture in the paper. "And let it go..." Murphy started humming that song and Brock let loose another walnut. " _Let it go_!" 

" _The cold never bothered me anyway_ ," Murphy finished cracking the last walnut with a flourish and flopped back. "My hands hurt. But the fudge is so good." 

"Good things take hard work." Brock smiled and thought about Alex, "Looking forward to going camping?" 

"Will there be bears? I hope there will be bears." 

"Well, that's why you put the food in the lock box, so the bears don't decide to have a teddy bear picnic." Brock knelt down and crawled towards his son, "I _f you go out in the woods today, you're sure for a great surprise._.." Murphy grinned and launched himself at Brock, catching his father in the chin with his head. 

"Lions and tigers and bears?" Murphy giggled. "Fudge, fudge, fudge time! Come on daddy." Murphy balanced the paper plate carefully in his small hands and Brock followed him to the Bartons' trailer. 

"Mrs. Barton!" Murphy whispered at the top of his lungs into the screen door. "I've got your nuts!"

"Okay, thanks Murphy. Bring them on in. Be quiet, the babies are sleeping." Laura Barton opened the door, her eyes ringed with dark circles. "Hi Brock. How's the local celebrity doing today?"

Brock ducked his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm not famous. That's all Alex."

Laura shrugged, "I dunno, you've got a following down at the laundry. Cheryl put up a collage on the community board. She's quite the scrapbooker." She raised her eyebrows. "It's got glittery rainbows on it. Come on in."

"I helped." Murphy chimed in. Brock looked down at his son. "I like stickers. We need more pictures with Mr. Cynthia."

Laura laughed at Brock's stricken expression. "It's very classy. With a capital K. It's nice to see you happy. You haven't always been so cheery." Brock nodded, he'd had a rough time of it for a bit. Murphy had snapped him out of his dreary downward spiral, given him something to fight for that wasn't the military.

"Clint will be back in a few weeks, summer fair season winding down. And I think Nat might be ready to take over soon. But that's the life I chose when I married a carnival manager, right?" 

"Good things take hard work, I guess. Here, let me help. I have to learn how to make something other than brownies." He took the mixing bowl from her hands. "Thanks for watching Murphy tonight." 

"Oh he's a doll. You're a good helper, Murphy." Laura unwrapped a cube of butter. "Go check on the babies and be very quiet, okay?" Murphy tiptoed to the back of the doublewide. "You've got a good boy there, Brock. How's he taking it?" 

"Better than I could have imagined. Sometimes I wake up and think that I imagined this whole thing. Like, it can't be this good, can it?" He still didn't know what he'd done to deserve this happiness. "When I look at him, the bottom drops out of my damn stomach. Alex is sweet and kind and He's just-- he's just amazing." 

"That's sweet. Now for the important question, what are you wearing tonight?" The gala was for Alex's philanthropic foundation,  _Renata_. Named after his late wife. Brock felt a little uneasy about making his public debut as a couple. 

"Alex rented me a tuxedo. A proper penguin suit." Brock chuckled, "I feel like I'm going to Senior Prom all over again. But with a much prettier date." 

"You're going to let me take a picture? Right? I have to have something to hold over Cheryl's head until she returns my cooler. I swear, that woman. And be home by midnight, Cinderella. Grease that with the butter paper." Laura pointed at a pan. "Being in love looks good on you Brock." 

"You haven't even seen me in the tux yet." Brock winked.

Laura shook her head, "Shameless. Can't wait to see the headlines in the Globe Press tomorrow, you know there's going to be a ton of press there. I wouldn't scowl at them like that though, you want to make a good impression." 

"Why is it anyone's business what Alex and I are? I don't see the fascination, it's so--" Brock stuck out his tongue. "Tacky."

"Well, you're dating a national hero, Brock. He's gorgeous for a politician and after the assassination attempt and his poor wife dying, well, you're part of a story now. You and I know better, but to the rest of the world, you are _entertainment_."

"The rest of the world needs to get a fucking life." Brock tossed the butter papers into the trash. "It's really draining on Alex, but this is an important night for him, so I'm gonna suck it up and be there for him." 

"Ready to put on a show?" Laura smirked, "I've got greasepaint and a spare clown costume in the shed. Just try to not look like you're going to kill the press and you should do fine. Think about what makes you happy and just tune the rest of the shit out. You can do that for a few hours. And don't drink on an empty stomach. Have some canapés. Don't step on toes if you can help it and --" She smiled and patted his hand, "Sorry, I'm mothering you again." 

"You're better at it than the real thing was. Thanks Laura. I'll try my best not to knock him up." Brock laughed, "I can defuse an IMD in the dark with a screwdriver and some gum, this is going to be a piece of cake." She didn't look convinced. Neither did he, really.

" _No_. We're making  _fudge_ , daddy." Murphy piped up in a loud whisper, still tiptoeing, "Not cake. Babies are sleeping, I'm gonna go play with Lucky, okay? He's a good puppy." He clung to Brock's leg. "Love you, daddy." And Brock almost ruffled Murphy's hair with buttery greased fingers, _almost_.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Brock scanned the crowd, looking for threats from the darkened interior of the limousine. His first ride in a limo and he couldn't even enjoy it. He frowned, the security detail wasn't looking at the crowd enough for his tastes. Rollins had stayed home with Cynthia and the replacement team wasn't inspiring confidence. There were so many places that an enemy could hide, so many vantage points. This whole operation left a bad taste in his mouth.

"This isn't Iraq." Alex remarked mildly, the tightness of his jaw betraying the lightness of his tone. Brock's anxiety was contagious, but he couldn't relax. The whole fucking world was out there. His life, more importantly, Murphy's life, was going to change forever. Was it worth it? Then Alex smiled at him, wistful and lovely. It was worth it. It _was_.

"Yeah, I know. But it-- feels less friendly." Brock took Alex's hand. "I have remind myself that I'm not in charge of this operation."

"That's right, you're my date." Alex squeezed his hand back. "I'm getting a better look at what you are like on the clock, aren't I? The soldier ready for anything?"

"Well yeah." Brock chuckled, "My bulletproof tux is at the cleaners, so I'm glad you got me this one. I kinda sucked at charming the ladies though, some dashing spy I was."

Alex laughed, "Oh, I'm calling bullshit on that one, Brock. You're going to do a number on the senatorial spouse brigade. And that's good. Win over the wife and you've got your opponent's balls right where you want them." Alex seemed to bloom in the flashbulbs by the minute. "Can't say that I've missed this madness, but it feels like home. Are you ready?"

Brock sighed, "We're still going camping right? You owe me."

"I will personally pitch a tent for you Brock," Alex joked and kissed Brock's knuckles. "What can I say that you do for the nosy nellies?"

"Just tell them Homeland Security. That's vague and scary enough that people don't ask too many questions. No one wants to be on a No Fly List. And really? They're just going to be thinking about which one of us bottoms." Brock rolled his eyes. "Tra la la la. Homo sex. Predictable."

Alex nodded his head, pursed his lips as if in deep thought. "Well if they ask, tell them that our sex tape will be released in widescreen 3D with surround sound with all profits going to the Foundation. We recorded it in the limo on the way over."

"Hell yeah. IMAX all the way." Brock chewed on his lip, "Is my hair okay?" He tried to look in the partition reflection. He didn't want to look bad, didn't want to reflect poorly on Alex.

"You look gorgeous. Now come on sweetheart. We've got the world to come out to." And Alex knocked on the window. Brock tried not to swallow his tongue as the limo door opened.

* * *

 

Alex had to greet everyone so the evening started to meld together in a soup of very repetitive questions. "Good evening, thank you so much for coming. You look lovely, Mrs. _______. Thank you so much again for supporting the Foundation. Yes, this is Brock." When he heard his name, that was Brock's cue to stop scanning the crowd for threats and smile as ingratiatingly as possible, answer some innocuous questions and then shake a hand. Rinse and repeat.

"You're doing very well, Brock." Alex said to him as they moved towards the giant ice swan. "Everyone is on their best behavior tonight, probably don't want to be the asshole that makes the poor widower break down into tears." A touch of a smirk, "I don't break out the waterworks unless I'm on the Senate floor during a filibuster."

"So you can cry on cue?" Alex nodded. "Good to know. I was really expecting-- something _worse_? I thought career politicians were horrible people. Present company excluded, of course." Brock took a sip of his mineral water.

"Well, you'd be right. And the only reason I'm not an asshole to you is that you look so damn good tonight that I want to rehearse that sex tape in the limo on the way home." Brock snorted the water out of his nose.

"I take that back, you are an asshole." Brock daubed at his nose with a cocktail napkin.

"Just a little one." Alex nodded his head, "The Asshole in Chief arrives." A short, stout man approached them and Alex greeted him coolly, "Ah, Senator Stern. Thank you for joining us tonight."

The Senator looked Alex and Brock up and down with a frown. "Your security?"

"My _date_. Brock Rumlow, this is Senator Stern." Brock extended his hand and Senator Stern looked at it for a beat too long to be anything other than a snub, then weakly shook it. Brock fought back the urge to pulp his finger bones.

"A pleasure." Brock offered and the Senator raised an eyebrow. Brock thought about how easy it would be to make him use a wheelchair for the rest of his life. 

"Suuure. So Alex, there's a rumor that you're thinking about returning to politics. Trying to regain your old seat. I thought you were going to settle down with that charming child and I don't know--" Brock stiffened, "Be a nice housewife with your new... boytoy. You know, I never thought of you as the homosexual type, but I suppose we all have our secrets. Skeletons. Closets."

Alex laughed, "Oh my dear Senator. I have no desire to return to politics at this time." His face hardened and he said in the same light tone, "I don't see how anyone could run for office after being shot by domestic terrorists, having his beloved wife die in his arms and raising a young motherless child all by himself. There's no way that the public would vote for anyone who had gone through that, all in service of his country. It just wouldn't be fair. To the _opposition_."

The Senator paled, "Well, you wouldn't want to drag your private life into the papers, would you? Not that we haven't all seen the pictures. Charming family you have, Mr. Rumlow. Just _adorable_. Blended families are so-- _modern_." 

Alex took Brock's hand and kissed it, deliberately not taking his eyes away from the Senator. "I expect that attitudes have changed since the Supreme Court ruling. The modern age and all that. Some of us have to be dragged, kicking and screaming into the new century. It's a shame you're up for re-election next year. You've always been an asset to the party. A very predictable, loyal asset." Brock was speechless, he'd never seen this bile from Alex before. The veiled hatred and sarcastic threats, treating Brock like he was a prop to make a point. "Again, thank you for coming. The Foundation appreciates your support."

"Always a pleasure, Alex." Senator Sterns nodded and walked away.

Brock took his hand back. "What the fuck was that?" He said under his breath, "Did you just use me to make a point to that asshole? I can't-- he brought up my kid, Alex! My kid!"

Alex rubbed his face, he looked exhausted. "I'm sorry. I've-- I've never been able to prove it, but I think that man collaborated with the terrorists who murdered Renata. I was the deciding vote on the Firearm Restriction and Registration Act. And when I was in the hospital-- it didn't pass. So, yeah. We're all a bunch of assholes, but some of us, we take it too far."

He took a deep breath, "If you want to leave, I don't blame you."

Brock put his arm around Alex, not caring who was looking at them. "You were really good at this shit, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was. Sometimes-- sometimes I miss it. Getting to do good things for people. Making a difference. But I can still do that on a smaller scale, can't I Brock?" Alex looked at him, "I'm not just fooling myself? Am I?"

Brock shook his head, but before he could respond the sound of gun shots echoed from outside the gala. 


	8. Chapter 8

“Down!” Brock pushed on Alex’s shoulders and herded him behind a load-bearing pillar, thick with steel and concrete. “Stay low. Stay down,” he ordered. It was pure well-trained instinct propelling him, Brock peered around into the chaos of the crowd. 

With the number of VIPs in this joint there should be enough security to handle just about anything. But _should be_ never really was enough of anything. He had a nagging tickle in the back of his brain, that little voice that he always listened to. It was one of the reasons he was still breathing. _Not safe. Not safe here._

He looked down at Alex, crouched at his feet. His arms were wrapped around his knees and he rocked slowly back and forth. “Hey.” Brock said, “You with me, Alex?” He shook Alex’s shoulder and Alex peered up at him, his gaze far away and unfocused. His mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. 

_S_ _hit._ What had Brock expected? Alex was a tough guy, but he was a civilian with a nasty case of PTSD. Several times, Brock had had to talk Alex down from a panic attack triggered by something as simple as fireworks or a backfiring car. He didn't have time to do that now. He stared back out at the crowd and tried to remember the exits. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

“Alex? Alex, _baby_ , we’ve got to move. We’ve got to move now.” Brock pulled Alex up by the collar of his tuxedo and pulled him along towards the fire exit. Not the best move, any trained squad would have all the fire exits covered, but a trained squad would have infiltrated... _shit. shit. shit._ Brock turned around and squinted at the crowd, looking for someone out of place. Someone who wasn’t scared, wasn’t trying to protect a client, didn’t belong... 

He caught the eye of Senator Stern of all people, huddled under the buffet table. A ghost of a smile curled across Stern’s lips, gone in a heartbeat and then his gaze flickered over to the side. Brock followed his sight line and saw the men. Two of them, hands inside their tuxedo jackets. Too many civvies, too many people in here for Brock to risk a firefight. That courtesy didn't stop the goons from unloading their clips, firing round after round. 

Brock pushed Alex towards the exit. “Run! Run! GO!” His feet stumbled and seemed slow enough to be mired in quicksand. _Sloppy marksmanship_ , he thought.  _Small blessings._

He grabbed a pair of steel tongs from the caterer’s cart near the exit, pushed Alex out the fire exit and shoved the tongs under the door, wedging it shut with a good hard kick. That would give him a few precious seconds of lead time. “Alex. Alex, I need you to listen to me.” 

“Huh?” Alex said in a daze, his glasses askew. “Where’s Renata?” _Shit. Shit. Shit._ He was gone, totally disassociated. Maybe it was kinder, but it certainly wasn’t convenient. Brock took a deep breath and rubbed Alex’s arm.

“She’s waiting for us outside. We’ve got to get out there, make sure she’s safe. Okay? Can you do that for me? Can you Alex?” Alex shrank back against the door, doubtful.  “I’m--” Brock gulped, he didn’t have time for this. “I’m your security. Look at me, you can trust me.”  Alex’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and he clutched at his side where he was wounded the last time gunshots rang out. 

“You're my boyfr---" Brock choked that back, "--our _kids_ go to school together, Cynthia and Murphy. We have playdates at the park?” He grabbed Alex’s hand, “I want to get you home to Cynthia.” And he pulled Alex down the stairwell after him as the goons started to pound on the door. “I love you and I will fucking _carry_ you if I have to Senator. I will drag you by your hair if it means you get to see your little girl again.” 

Brock didn’t look back at Alex, it didn’t matter right now. Priorities included breathing and little else. He took out the .38 in his ankle holster. Was it paranoid to pack heat to a black tie gala? Maybe. But life had a way of making his paranoia seem more like prudence.

Why were his fingers slippery? _Fuck_. He was _hit_.  _  
_

The door burst open and Brock stepped in front of Alex, shielded him with his body. He smoothly raised his gun and fired off two clean shots. Impossible to miss at this distance and angle. The first bullet traveled up underneath a chin and exited out the back of a skull. The second took the same path through a soft palate. The sound was deafening in the stairwell. The assassins dropped to the steel stairs with heavy thuds, bits of brain matter and blood dripped off the diamond tread. 

"Don't look, baby. Don't look."  Brock ordered, tried to hide the carnage from Alex's eyes. They moved down the stairs. One step, then another. Alex's shoulders started to shake and Brock petted his hair. Blood dripped down from above them, spattered on the pure white of his tuxedo shirt and dribbled down his neck.

Brock cracked the exit door, peeked out into the glare of blue and red flashing lights. _Ah, the cavalry._ He listened for the sound of footsteps from above. Nothing. He flicked the safety back on his gun and turned to Alex, his pale face was bathed in the red of the stairwell lights. "You're safe, baby. I'll never let anyone hurt you. Are you with me, Alex?" He wiped a drop of blood off of Alex's cheek with the back of his hand. "Come on, talk to me baby," he crooned, a soothing sound and a plea. 

Alex blinked, "Brock?" His lips trembled. "Are they gone?" Brock crushed Alex to his chest and held him there with one arm. 

"I don't know, baby. We're gonna stay here until we get the all clear." He weakly chuckled, "I didn't even get to try those shrimp puffs. Did you?" 

"Allergic to shrimp. Most shellfish too. Iodine. Break out in a rash. Get all itchy." Alex spoke in clipped short sentences as if he were afraid his voice would betray them. 

"So no dates at the Wharf? Good to know. Murphy doesn't let me cook crabs anymore, not after the Little Mermaid. Damned singing shellfish. You know, I think Disney has screwed me out of some damn good meals." He kissed Alex's forehead. "You did good, you did real good." 

"I think I pissed myself." Alex rubbed his face on Brock's tux. "Did-- did I ask for my wife?" 

"Yeah. It's okay." _It wasn't_. He hated the people, no, _the monsters_ who tried to hurt his love. He hated with every fiber of his being, it surged up in him bile black. He'd kill every last one of them. Every fucking last one--

"I wish, you hadn't killed them." Alex said weakly with more compassion and grace than Brock could understand. "I-- I don't want you to be-- I don't want you to be  _tainted_ by my problems. You're a good man, you're a good father and a good person and a good--" 

"Let me stop you right there. That's not the only blood I have on my hands. I'm a soldier, Alex. This is what I do. And I'll kill every motherfucker out there if it means that you're safe." And he meant it. 

"You can't just think about me, think about your son! What about Murphy? What about your son!? Does his life mean so little to you?" Alex pleaded and tried to push away. 

"Don't be stupid!" Brock yelled, "Family is everything to me and you're part of my family, whether you like it or not! And if I have to deal with photographers hiding in the woods and watching me pump gas and seeing pictures of me in my ratty sweatpants in the newspaper and oh yeah,  _this shitshow_?"  Brock cradled Alex's face with his hand, stroked his cheekbone with his thumb. "Then I'm all in. And Murphy loves you too, loves Cynthia. We might not be your first family, but we're the best-- we're the best any of us are gonna get." 

Alex smiled and embraced Brock, who groaned and nearly crumpled to the ground. " _Oh fuck me_."

"Later. You're hurt!" Alex pulled off Brock's tuxedo jacket and turned even paler than he was. "You've been shot." 

"Not the first time." Brock looked at his left arm, his bicep was perforated. "Looks clean, through and through." Alex pressed at the wound with his fingers, determination steeling his jaw. "Aw, thanks sweetheart." 

"Don't sweetheart me. We're getting you some medical care if I have to drag you by your hair." 

"So you did hear me." Brock winced. "Did you hear all of it?" 

Pierce smiled, "I did. And I'm going to wait until you stop bleeding before I ask you to move in with me. There's going to be cameras out there, waiting for us." 

"Awesome. Wanna put on a show for them? I mean, not as good as limo sex in widescreen 3D with surround sound--" Alex stopped his words with a kiss and for a few moments, Brock couldn't feel his bullet wound at all. 

* * *

 

Laura pointed at the front page picture of the national newspaper. A defiant Alexander Pierce spattered in blood, held up his wounded boyfriend who leaned on him with stars in his eyes. The caption, FORMER SENATOR FIGHTS OFF SECOND ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT. His relationship with Brock wasn't even mentioned until the fourth paragraph, but the photo left no doubt as to their status. "Did you rip your shirt like that just to show off your muscles? Nice abs." 

Brock popped a blueberry in his mouth. "Noooooo. We had to make a bandage for my arm." He licked his lips and grinned. "Doesn't Alex look like the dashing hero?" 

"You're quite the damsel in distress. Did you swoon?" 

"Just a little bit." Another blueberry. "Blood loss." 

"My daddy's a hero!" Murphy's teeth were stained purple from berries. "Miss Cheryl added that picture to her bulletin board. With _extra_ glitter." He added with satisfaction and Brock ruffled his hair. After they finished with the jam Brock was planning to ask Murphy what he thought about moving, but for now, there were more than enough blueberries to sweeten the day. 

"Thanks pumpkin. I gotta say, I'd get shot more often if I got this kind of treatment." He winced as Laura kicked him in the ankle. "Ow!"

"I'll pretend that that's the painkillers talking. Now go see if you can change a diaper one-handed, Mr. Hero." 

"I'll help Daddy! You have to be careful, Cooper will pee on you. You have to dodge it. Like a ninja." Murphy jumped from one side of the hallway to the other, fueled by pure sugar. "Like a ninja!" He crept into the nursery. 

Brock raised an eyebrow and Laura shrugged, "You were so late that we ended up watching old Bruce Lee films. I don't really sleep anymore with the babies and we were watching the news and goddamn it Brock, you scared the crap out of me. I mean, I love Murph and I'd take care of him like he was my own, but goddamn it Brock." She wiped her face and sniffled, then kicked him in the ankle again. 

"Ow." Brock gathered her into a one-armed hug, "Thank you Laura." He buried his face into her hair. "Thank you." And the bravado that had puffed him up crumbled. He quietly wept until Murphy came back into the kitchen with a tattered wet diaper in his hands. 

"You took too long. I did it myself." He threw it into the trash in triumph.  

"Murph? How? How did you do it yourself?" Laura asked. 

"By being careful." Murphy walked over to the sink and grabbed a fistful of blueberries. Brock and Laura both walked very quickly to the nursery and braced themselves for what Murphy considered _careful_.

"Oh, _Murphy Issac Rumlow_."

"I'll get a mop."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [And a Happy New Year](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5658421) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot)




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